Spin the Bottle
by Xeen Cyr
Summary: they do have a drinking problem, don't they? P/O friendship or more? CHAPTER 8 UP!
1. Chapter 1

**FRINGE**

**Spin the Bottle**

_No copyright inFRiNGEment intended._

_Note: merely addressing P&O drinking problem ;) _

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**PART 1**

Olivia hailed him from across the bar. She was wearing her usual blending signature pant suit and sporting the same pony tail she used to when in the fields, a clear indication that she did not have time to go back to her place to change into more casual clothes, had she any. Peter had dreamt of a day that she would act the way she was expected, -dressing in a less formal way, that is. He acknowledged her rigid position on the stool and her weary face.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," he cheered.

Her hand flew over the table in a very familiar gesture and she shook her head. He noticed that her brow was furrowed. Her body language was clearly betraying her tonight. _Too many hours chasing bad guys and struggling in front of a computer, that's what it does to you_.

"No sweat, I was only here minutes ago." Her voice even, she showed him the opposite stool with her hand. He blatantly ignored it and stood still before her.

"Where is your car? I figured that you'd park right in front. Isn't it what your fancy prerogatives at the Bureau are all about?" he teased her, sitting on the next stool instead.

Her smile warmed up. She let her shoulders dropped and locked her eyes on him. Striped shirt under a black wool zipped sweater, black jeans, ankle boots. He signalled to the bartender and two extra beers materialized on their table.

"No, not tonight. Don't shoot me for anticipating our demise."

"Shoot you? Last time I checked you were the one with the gun!"

"I mean… I thought that our usual MO is to get as smashed as humanly possible within our three hour drinking time and…"

"And you're right there will be no designated driver in the end."

She nodded and took a large gulp of the fresh beer in front of her. "Exactly."

"Why's that the only thing we actually do together is to get drunk?"

Her eyes widened and her back straightened. She sure didn't expect his frontal pun.

"What?"

"I mean I'm all for having a good time with a friend but is it all we're entitled to? Who decided that in our two buddies go out and have drinks and exchange confidences plan the exchange confidences part was left out of the picture?"

She froze. He brushed her arm lightly with a soothing hand and came closer, his mouth a dangerous distance from her face.

"I have to assume we're friends," he trailed. He was whispering. With that, he moved away from her personal space obviously pleased with himself.

"I'm not sure where you're going with this,' she snapped.

"Of course you are 'Livia, come on, indulge me."

She looked down to her glass and to her hands on the glass and opened her mouth but stayed ultimately silent.

"Please, pretty please?" he said, twinkles in his eyes.

"But you're a guy," she pleaded ultimately.

"What has it got to do with anything?"

"You're supposed to be the one who avoids confiding and keeps a distance."

"You're wrong. I like small talk and learning secrets. And you've read my file. I don't know a rat's ass about you 'Livia and it's getting old. I know more about your sister than about you and I've only met her a couple of times."

She said something between her teeth that sounded like _I bet she was all girly and sexy._ "Sorry, I don't do small talk," she shrugged, "or gossiping or anything along those lines."

"God! That's not what I'm talking about and you know it right? What I mean is that we've known each other for months now and you learned more about yours truly than what's in my fantasy file. Because I told you. I trust you. Why can't you?"

"Sorry, I can't do this, not today." She placed her flat hand on her forehead and closed her eyes. "I'm tired, I'm down and to be honest, I was only looking forward to spending some good time with no strings attached."

"Strings attached? Aren't you overly dramatic here Dunham? I didn't propose to you, I'm just asking for a fair exchange between two adults. That's called communication."

"And you're expecting that the truth squats at the bottom of the bottle? That's awfully dense for a genius."

"Don't you go there. You should know that I'm hopeless when it comes to relationships. But I can see you're exhausted and that you need to talk to someone if not a shrink, anybody can see that. You got some childhood memories back right? Come on Dunham, I'm not asking for full disclosure here, just let me demonstrate some compassion."

"Peter… I understand you want to help…"

"… but you're not ready yet?"

She frowned, her hand searching her dark jacket. Before she had time to answer his question, her cell phone was in her hand. "Dunham," she prompted, slightly turning away from him. Her voice got lost in the general hoo-ha.

Peter relaxed on his seat, took a sip of his drink, his eyes scanning the bar over the rim of his glass. He finally looked back at her face. She seemed more peaceful now. She slid her phone shut and turned to him.

"That was Broyles. We need to get Walter. Something odd had come up."

"Doesn't it always," he sighed. "Well, if I can't get you to open up over a drink, next time we'll spin the bottle."

She flinched. "Spin the bottle?"

"Don't worry, I won't kiss you. That was a figure of speech. If the bottle points to you, you've got to answer my question."

"Fair enough."

"Let's go Dunham, I'll take you to your car. You're not going to argue about this either, are you?"

"You drove over here? I thought you didn't have your car."

"First off, technically it's Walter's."

"And?"

"And, I was planning to get you drunk and make you spill the beans not the over way round."

"Next time I'll take my car," she said with a straight face, jumping on her feet.

He tossed a few dollars on the table and followed in her wake.

"Hey Dunham that's cheating!"

She pushed the door and glanced back. She smiled.

He was not certain why she did but he smiled back. They emerged in the street and bickered their way to the Bishop's family wagon.


	2. Chapter 2

**FRINGE**

**Spin the Bottle**

_No copyright inFRiNGEment intended._

_Note: due to popular demand, this is the 2__nd__ instalment. Please let me know what you think ;)_

-o-

**PART 2**

She placed carefully her fork and knife back on her plate and wiped her mouth. She tried to avert his persistent gaze but finally gave up with a shrug.

"I had no idea that we could have so much fun," she nodded in appreciation. Elbows on the table, fingers intertwined, she found herself scrutinizing his face.

"Well, dinner and a movie, there's not much that can go wrong, don't you think?" he teased her. "And one can always count on good old Hitch to make a date almost perfect…"

"Still, I see two major flaws in your reasoning."

"I'm all ears Olivia." He sat back on his chair and his eyebrows rocketed in mocked anticipation.

"_Notorious_ wouldn't exactly be my first choice," she said. "Love, Nazis and betrayal?"

"I always thought that Hecht and Cary was a good combo when it comes to seduce beautiful tough FBI agents."

"Seduce?" she said again, her eyes twinkling over her glass of Merlot, "is it what you're doing? Nonetheless, you have a point," she added without a pause.

"Thought so," he grinned back, raising his beer in a toast. "Keep going, what is the second flaw?"

"Oh yes," she trailed, "the second flaw… Well technically, this is not a date."

"You're right; this was definitely NOT a date…" Leaning over their table, he looked her in the eyes and kissed her. "… until now."

Her eyes widened and she didn't respond to the kiss. She watched him take another swig of his beer. Her lips slightly parted, she let her tongue taste his scent on her lips and pouted unconsciously. So much for a nice time in town with no strings attached. Her cheeks went reddish and she looked away.

"Not exactly the answer I expected, but I can be patient," he stated matter-of-factly. "So what do you say, a last nightcap at your place? I would have gladly invited you over but my hotel room is way too much sanitized. Wouldn't it be a perfect way to end our non dating evening?"

"I say that we finish our dinner. Then we'll see about that."

"Was that an inkling of you getting cold feet? I understand your reluctance, but could you consider it from an intellectual point of view?"

"I'm not sure…"

"We've know each other for a long time," he prompted.

"Long enough to know it's not a good idea."

"At least long enough for both of us to consider the possibility of a more intimate relationship."

"I don't know. You're right we've know each other for a while but I…"

"Well, let's get some dessert into you and give you some time to mull over my proposition."

His smile was infectious and she almost gave up. What if he was right? She felt lonelier than ever and it would be so easy to comply but deep down, she also knew it would be a mistake.

"Look," he was insistent now, his cheerful tone contradicting his furrowed brow and worried look. "I know this can work. You owe us that much Olivia."

She couldn't help but feel a slight disgust at his whining statement.

"I do?"

"Of course you do! I know that you've been hurt before and I can only imagine what you've been through since John died. But it's time to move on."

"Is it? And you're supposed to be like what, my rebound guy?"

"Don't put it that way please, not after what we had together."

She stayed silent, observing his tense body language and fidgeting hands. Déjà vu.

"What the hell! Why not? Would it be so terrible if I were your rebound guy? I never made a mystery of my feelings."

Suddenly her meal didn't quite agree with her. Her mind went in overdrive. She had to find a way out and fast. She controlled her temper when he covered her hand with his.

"Please don't," her hand slipped away out of his reach. "I find it… inappropriate."

A waiter came hovering around their table and he sent him away with a nod. She locked her eyes on his, and she was trying to find the right words when her phone rang.

"I have to…" she gestured to her pocket, retrieved her cell and checked the caller id. She almost let out a sigh of relief.

"Dunham," she said. Her voice was too loud and echoed in the microphone.

"Hey 'Livia, time for our little game?" She could barely hear Peter's voice in the ambient confused noise. "You remember?"

"Yes." she nodded with enthusiasm. "Of course. Now?"

"Err… yes, why not? You're up to it?"

"Absolutely, I'll be right there."

"I'm at our usual place."

"Okay, give me five minutes." She hung up and gathered her things. "Sorry Lucas, gotta run, work, you know."

"When duty calls," he smiled, "I understand, go Olivia, and save the world for me."

"Will do." She turned around and started to walk away but changed her mind and stopped in her tracks. She went back to their table and faced him.

"It was a nice evening. Thank you. I'm glad you're in Boston. I'll see you around." She placed a resonant kiss on his cheek and left abruptly.

"I really hate this guy who keeps calling you Olivia," Lucas Vogel said between his teeth.


	3. Chapter 3

**FRINGE**

**Spin the Bottle**

_No copyright inFRiNGEment intended._

_Note: round 3! Your input is always appreciated ;)_

-o-

**PART 3**

Olivia took her time to get to the bar. She needed to ponder what just happened earlier in the evening. When she had accepted to meet with her ancient flame, and yes, she was aware she was only responding to an impulse and was far from thinking straight when it came to Lucas Vogel, --and have dinner, she knew from the start that he was probably going to throw a lame excuse at her to get her back into his bed. And god, it was so easy for him to play this part. She was still a bit disoriented after having been unexpectedly saved by the bell.

Literally.

The best part was that she had been saved before getting hurt. That part, leaving unharmed and with her head up, that was new. She almost fell into his trap in Germany when every fibre of her being was screaming against it. To resist Lucas was the tricky part even though she thought that a relationship with him was a bad idea because, she wasn't kidding herself, people don't change. They always say they can change or that they will try or already have changed. Always the same charade. She looked into his eyes and she was lost, for all the good reasons –the sex was fantastic and they've been together long enough back in the days to make her feel comfortable to skip the foreplay, and especially for all the bad ones –the tremendous loss of self-esteem, the morning after and the guilt, everything that had been imprinted in her soul with the loss of John Scott.

Not to mention that her new found experience with the Pattern had made her want to be abused in some way. That was a side-effect she had never anticipated. She barely could keep at bay memories of her childhood that were suddenly thrust inside her head and cope with the improbable meet of a former experimental partner.

How could she so easily fall again in the same trap, that was beyond her. She would have to blame it on the Lucas effect. She knew that she will get hurt eventually but she couldn't help coming back to him, again and again in spite of the cheating, calling names and slamming of doors. And he didn't even try to conceal his act this time. He was rather insistent, different somehow from his former self, as if he were afraid of the competition. But who would rescue her and challenge him now that John was dead? Peter? No, Peter was just a colleague.

But like in Germany, it was Peter on the phone. Perfect timing, what were the odds?

She made a detour to delay the moment she will see Peter. For some reason, she felt too vulnerable at the moment, unable to shield herself from him like she was used to. Not that it was necessary. They were friends and she shouldn't have to do that. It was unfair to Peter and to some extent unfair to her because, boy, did she deserve some fun on her few hours off duty. She simply felt she had to keep her personal life private to guarantee the success of her professional life, like she always did, though it had proven to be a perilous endeavour of late after the debacle that had been her affair with John.

She smiled in the safety of her car. Lucas was cute in his peculiar way and certainly a great asset in the bedroom but he was dull and boring. Cooking? Come on! That was all he could come up with to seduce her, she giggled.

On the contrary, Peter had no hidden agenda that she was aware of. He was certainly fun to be around, easy on the eyes, witty, a genius and a serious pain in the ass. This was making him the perfect candidate for a major crush.

And an even bigger disappointment.

And an impossible match because they were partners, and she was done with fooling around during business hours. _She wished_.

She parked her SUV a block away from the bar and stayed a while with her hands clenched on the wheel. What was it with this game? Spin the bottle? She was not sixteen any more, getting drunk at parties or on the beach near a bonfire and making out with every boy in town.

Only this was Rach's department. Had she been, Olivia Dunham, ever sixteen? Not that she could recall. Maybe Peter was her chance to be sixteen once in her life. She slammed her car door shut and strode forward to the bar a dark cloud hovering over her head, any carefree anticipation blown away by her dark thoughts.

She spotted him immediately perched on a stool, his hands flying in the air and flirting with a pretty redhead at least ten years his junior. She almost abandoned the idea of having a good time with no ulterior motive when she experienced something that felt really close to a sting of jealousy and walked bravely to his table instead. She nodded briefly and Peter's face lighted up. Before she knew it, the girl was gone and she was on the opposite stool facing him.

Minus a deck of cards.

She winced. That time in Cambridge, she felt it, the attraction, the '_what if'_, the possibility of something more than a pleasant friendship with a co-worker. But it was all wishful thinking and David Robert Jones had other plans in store for her. Now, she had to go all the way again to stir this eerie sensation back to life. She cleared her throat, feeling somehow like a deer caught in the headlights unable to utter a single coherent word. Was she the one supposed to make small talk? He was willing to make her open up, that was the perfect opportunity to get the Lucas subject off her chest and out in the open. What could possibly be more pathetic that her failed love life?

"I'm glad you could make it 'Livia. I was worried. It took you like forever to get here."

"I was not at the lab."

"I know. I called Astrid," he said with a wink and shrugging in apology.

"Oh you did…" she trailed, her face going hotter. She concealed her embarrassment behind her hair.

"And not at your office either," he insisted. "I know."

"You know?" she could not help to look puzzled. How would he know that?

He moved about on the stool, puffing out his chest absently. "Charlie called me. He couldn't get hold of you," he said punctuating his words with an accusing finger. "Strange because I did without any problem," he teased her.

She bit her lips and tucked a loose strand of hair behind an ear. "I was with a friend."

"And having a pizza judging by your appalled look..."

"Wait, are you psychic now?"

"… and the stain of tomato sauce on your shirt," he grinned. She smiled back and joined her hands on the table. "Hey! Time out. A friend? You told me you didn't have any, --apart from your sister. And if you allow me, she cannot be considered as a friend. She's way too much…"

"Attractive?" The words spilled out of her mouth before she knew it. This time she went beet red and thanked the poor lights of the bar for providing her some protection.

"I was going to say selfish but yes," he added provocatively, "I give you that much she's a sexual animal this one." His eyes twinkled but she chose to look away.

She was not expecting the blow. Her heart fluttered. She took a slug of her beer to regain some composure. "Not that kind of friend," she finally offered. "I met Lucas when we were both in the military. We split up a long time ago."

"And?"

"Nothing. He's history…"

"Is he? If he was, you wouldn't look that beaten and most importantly, you would not be here with me. What does it say about you?"

"If you want that kind of disclosure, I take it it's the perfect opportunity to spin the bottle…"


	4. Chapter 4

**FRINGE**

**Spin the Bottle**

_No copyright inFRiNGEment intended._

_Note: round 4… it's only friends' bickering or is it more?_

-o-

**PART 4**

"What?" he said genuinely puzzled by her proposition.

She couldn't help but fidgeting with her coaster. All of a sudden she was feeling embarrassed to be embarrassed. What was it with her tonight? Was it because of the full moon or what? She almost fell into Lucas' embrace and now she was stuck in a noisy bar with Peter. Wouldn't she be better home alone? Well, it was certainly way too late to feel sorry.

All she needed to do now was to speed the process and to get it over with --without losing her shirt on the way, that is. And maybe, maybe, she would feel better if she could talk about it.

"You told me that you'll ask me things, things about me…" she trailed, wishing she had called Peter back to cancel their evening after leaving Lucas at the restaurant.

"Oh, yes," he grinned. "No kidding? You're really up to it? Man, I can't believe you're doing this."

"… you said that if the bottle points to me, you won't kiss me…" she continued, trying to appear unfazed.

"I was only bragging." His grin was infectious as always and she looked down to avoid his steady gaze.

"… and that I will have to answer any question. Am I right?" she asked.

"Right…" he kept gazing, testing her, "… okay, I believe you, let's do it." He rubbed his hands in approval. He made the bottle spin but when it stopped, it pointed in his direction. "So much for learning secrets about you." He made a face and grinned. "Your turn. Ask me anything."

"Why were you in Iraq?" she blurted out without having a second thought.

"Come on," he sat back and grinned. "You know everything already! Oil business, supervising a pipeline construction, that sort of things, nothing fancy really, it was just a job."

"I didn't picture you in this role. You can do that, the just a job part?"

"Why not? That's basic engineering," he said, and she was aware he was only deflecting the question. "You don't need to be MIT savvy to learn how to do it, there's plenty of books available on the subject."

"So you said," she smirked, his bland affirmation reminiscent of their first days together in the lab and the Fringe Division. She spun the bottle. Peter again. Her evening cut short with Lukas sparked off the question. She might as well ask and get it over with.

"Who's Tess?" she said. Now she was the one staring. She felt the rush of adrenaline when she should have enjoyed having a good time with a colleague. It was getting out of hand. She didn't mean to get personal right away, it was so unlike her. She bit her lip, her head slightly tilted. _And she thought she was embarrassed before_.

"So you know about Tess?" he said matter-of-factly, his face serious. "Why am I not surprised?" He wriggles on the stool, elbows on the table, staring intensely at her with his best poker face on.

"Only doing my job," she states finally letting go of the coaster.

"Then you don't need my answer if you were spying on me. You probably know all there's to know."

"Who's the one who set the rules in the first place?"

He giggles. "That would be me. Okay, that was a fair question. Well, for the sake of argument, let's say she's an old friend." Pause. "Just like your old friend."

"Did you try to contact her again?"

"You will have to give the bottle another spin for this one. My turn." He placed the bottle in the centre of the narrow table and gave it a spin. The neck pointed to him again. His chin dropped to his chest dramatically. He knew when to yield.

"She contacted me. But you must know that I met her. Once. Not my finest decision when it comes to being discreet and not a liability to the Fringe Division, but I did. She was a very dear friend at some point. But she was in a bad relationship. She still is. It's complicated."

She could tell that he did his best to control his body language. His eyes finally left his hands and he sighed. "But that's in the past." His face was unreadable.

"Was it when things got out of hand a couple of years ago?"

"That would be another question," he smiled. "I gave you more than you asked for already, you're cheating."

She grinned back. "Better say that you don't want me to probe into your shady past."

"I'm not sure that you'd like what you find but basically, that would be right."

"Okay, I guess it's my turn again?" He spun the bottle and she took another swig on her beer. This time the bottle pointed to her. "Who's your friend?"

"Lucas? Like I said, we served together. We met in Sudan, we were special ops."

"How special ? Black ops?

"Not exactly, we were sent to assist the government, but I can't elaborate much, that's classified information."

"Selling military expertise to dictators, your past is not any shinier than mine."

She kept a blank face and didn't respond to his provocative stand. "Merely following orders," she said with a shrug. "Lucas is with the Bundestag now and he's only visiting. We lived together for almost two years," she volunteered. "That's two years I'd rather toss under the rug." She stared behind his shoulder and her eyes seemed glassy.

"Your turn, 'Livia. But let me order us something a little more up your alley first. Single malt?"

She nodded with an appreciative smile. "That'll do."

He gestured to the bartender and orders the drinks while she tried to regroup. What was next? She didn't feel like discussing her love life with him, even if it was supposed to be an innocent bar game designed to ease up the tension and help them work together. Yet they kept avoiding the elephant in the room. What he really wanted to know was about Nick… and probably why Walter was so upset after she confronted him. Maybe Walter didn't mention that, she pondered, scanning his profile absently.

"Why don't we get back to safer grounds for tonight and revisit our past some other times?" He turned back to her and smiled.

"That is a grand idea." She sounded more relieved that she should have.

"So… how's Ella?" he said and she got the funny feeling that the ground was giving way under her feet. She hated it when she was the one to lead the conversation into unknown grounds she'd prefer not to venture on.

"She's back to Philly. Rach is fighting for custody."

"Yep, I know. We discussed it over the phone."

Great. Exactly the kind of information she didn't need. She flushed violently.

Their cell phones vibrated at the same time. She checked the caller id. Broyles. She picked up, going all professional at once. "Dunham."

Peter's brow was furrowed and she had to fight the impulse to make the crease on his forehead go away with her hand.

"… Peter Bishop, yes… I'm on my way."

"I'll be right there," she said echoing him.


	5. Chapter 5

**FRINGE**

**Spin the Bottle**

_No copyright inFRiNGEment intended._

_Note: round 5… I'm in a strange mood, so this part is a bit different. Light banter in the end though ;)_

-o-

**PART 5**

Olivia watched them move around in the lab through her office windows. Even with the door open, metallic rattles, computer humming and even lively chatter were barely audible. She should go back to the Fringe Division downtown. She didn't feel safe staying in here, not anymore.

Walter seemed to be acting out as usual, oblivious of their conversation and of the things he once did to her, scurrying from one bench to another in some kind of frenzy, exaltation exuding every pore of his wrinkled face. Astrid glanced from a distance. Busy with an experiment of her own, she was taking notes on a large pad and frowning with disgust at the fumes that were oozing from a glass vial before her.

Olivia was not sure that Peter was here yet. After her confronting Walter at the pastry shop, she was certain he will ask her for an explanation. Well, she was as ready as ever to provide him with all the details. She was fed up with the whole Pattern thing, tired of being trapped in this endless loop of madness and to top this, hurt by what she had just discovered. Had she needed a confirmation of some sorts (and though she had had her doubts for a while now) that her closest colleague, a man she had become friend with, and god was she proud to call him her friend, actually betrayed her some twenty five years ago. John was right. She had been chosen for a reason.

And now she felt like she couldn't trust anyone any more.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Peter. He walked from the entrance door to the stairs and to Walter. They exchanged a few words. He left him with a spring in his step and approached Astrid, tantalizing her to no avail with a paper bag full of donuts or similar horrid greasy pastries. She froze, her brow furrowed. She couldn't hold him responsible for his father conduct. In fact, he had warned her from day one. She should have listened… and eventually would have ended up without any knowledge of John betraying her… or not. "I hope he's worth it," Peter's words about the man she loved… she frowned again and sighed.

She retrieved a bottle of scotch from her bottom drawer and hesitated briefly before laying it down on her desk. Her hand was light on the bottle neck. After an imperceptible pause, she gave the bottle a gentle nudge and stared at it gaining some momentum. No matter what she did, even if she wanted these things that kept happening to her blotted out, they seem to self-generate and simply fill the room despite her best efforts at solving case after case. Ultimately, Peter's game was a nice way of keeping, --if not unpredictable events, at least black thoughts at bay.

Peter rushed inside her office. His hand still on the door frame, he swirled inside with a huge grin on his face and closed the door behind him in the same motion. He went directly to the windows and shut down the slats blinding them momentarily from the rest of the building and the comforting agitation.

"What… what are you doing?" she said, her face going red. For a split moment, she felt like a deer caught in a car headlights and sensed tension build.

"Me? Nothing, just starting a rumour," he joked. "More likely, I want to hide you from the public eye."

She opened her eyes wide. What was he talking about?

He pointed at something on her desk. "The bottle might give you away and provide them with a serious clue about your alcohol problem," he teased her. "Ain't it a bit early for scotch Dunham?" He turned the chair and sat astride facing her. He cocked his head and smiled.

She chuckled and relaxed. "You're right, I'll put it away." She opened her drawer.

"Don't!"

"Why not?"

"Don't you want to play? Aren't you tired of revisiting the past year again and again? Don't you want to move on with your life?"

She stared at him defiantly. "You're wrong, I'm way beyond brooding over any personal loss I can think of. What happened to John for better or for worse doesn't belong with me any longer. And what happened to me…"

He didn't let her finish her sentence. "And by this, you mean having a date with this old friend of yours?" he dared her.

"It's not like th… Spin the bottle if you want to ask," she says instead.

"Actually I don't. I'd rather like you to talk to me about the whole Cortexiphan thing. What was it that Walter told you?"

_Great timing Peter, t__he big explanation_. "Nothing. You've heard him at the hotel about Nick. He can't remember. And I find it extremely difficult for me to…" she sat back in her chair and laced her fingers, "… forgive him."

"Well then! Don't!" he exclaimed again, leaning forward, his hands dancing on the back of the chair. "You don't have to. He did it, he did this horrible thing to you. Experimenting on children for crying out loud… Well, anyway. For whatever reason he had chosen to give you this drug, it's in the past, not that it's of no importance but we –he can't undo it. That's always the deed that counts. And even if he can't remember the where, the when or the why, he knows he did it to you. You can't dispute that."

"I know. And as I said before I resent him." She paused, staring at her hands on the desk. "And I don't --at the same time."

"Welcome to my life," he cheered. Even to her ears it sounded contrived. "Come on, spin it. From where I stand, you don't really look like you were working anyway, at least let's do something fun."

"It depends on the question."

"Well, we can change the rules."

"Again?" she smiled. She smoothed her hair with her right hand and winced, her raising eyebrow challenging him.

"Why not?" he shrugged. "Let's go back to the basics. Consider this, I could kiss you instead."

Someone rapped at the door and Astrid barged in. "Sorry to interrupt, I think Walter discovered something new in the manuscript."

"On my way," Peter stood up, putting the chair back to its former place. "You coming? We can play some other time."

Astrid glared, the bland expression on her face contradicting the twinkle in her eyes which went briefly from the closed Venetian blinds to a flushed Olivia and a clearly satisfied Peter and back to the bottle. She let Peter stride past her and closing the door behind her, she followed him to Walter's desk.


	6. Chapter 6

**FRINGE**

**Spin the Bottle**

_No copyright inFRiNGEment intended._

_Note: round 6__… New direction ^^_

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

**PART 6**

"Okay, I'm done!" Peter discarded his protective goggles on his lab bench and stretched his back. "I'll put the Petri dishes to rest for tonight," he added, waving at Walter.

He stacked the dishes into a pile, placed them carefully inside a single plastic container and put them onto the top rack of the incubator. He verified the temperature and humidity levels, set the timer and closed the door.

"All set," he said, more to himself than to his father. "Do you want me to get more agar plates ready for tomorrow?" he asked, barely looking in his father's direction. "Do we have more cultures to grow?"

No answer. Dr Bishop had been in "one of his mood" –Astrid's own words, all day. He sighed and turned to Walter who was seated at the piano playing his favourite collection of jazz standards. Peter listened to the tune and thought for a moment that it was Gershwin's "_Someone to Watch over Me_" when he recognized an entire different tune. Initially ascending from the third degree of the minor key, gradually working its way back down, The Duke's "_In a Sentimental Mood_" was a sophisticated song, with a more brooding introspective feeling. He let Walter play the final chords before speaking up again.

"I'm leaving, is it your poker night again?"

A wary Walter looked up and nodded briefly before standing up. "No, we don't have any more cultures to grow for this lot," he said dryly. He slammed the lid on the keyboard. The piano protested with multiple shattered echoes.

"Do you need a lift or not?" Peter asked again determined not to feel disturbed by his moody attitude.

"No. I promise Dr Henschel that I will be at the table tonight. Seven-card stud," he volunteered. "But thank you son for the attention."

"At least tell me you're not cheating," Peter teased him.

"Of course I'm not, Peter!" the doctor protested feebly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Walter…"

"Not that they can see the difference anyway," he muttered.

"So you have a system."

Walter turned away and took off his lab coat with brisk energy. "I perfected it. It's totally harmless. I'll let them win, you know… eventually."

"All right, all right don't hit the ceiling just yet. Simply tell Astrid I'm well ahead of our schedule."

"Agent Farnsworth left an hour ago… or so, can't remember."

"Oh… really? I didn't notice that," said Peter. He looked around to make sure Walter was right, eliciting more grunts on his part. "Where's Olivia?"

Walter rolled his eyes and walked up the stairs. "She's gone."

"But her light is on…"

"You tell me." Walter grabbed his coat. He turned back to Peter. "Don't forget to close the door when you leave son. And don't wait up, please, I'm not a child! I will see you tomorrow." Before Peter had time to add anything, he was gone.

Well, so much for leaving early and sharing a bottle with Olivia. He sighed again. He went to her office, checked the wobbling folders on her desk, decided against snooping around, turned the light off and headed out. Half way to the door, he winced and retraced his steps to the lab fridge. He took a brown bag from the door shelf. For once, he had made plans and for that one time, work had got in the way. He had been so busy with day-to-day laboratory routine and storing samples, things that even a junior lab assistant could master, that he had lost track of time and neglected his basic needs.

_Basic needs? _He hung his head._ Come on Peter, that's not very courtly, _he chuckled.

He trotted up the stairs, switched off the lights and locked the lab door on his way out.

-o-

He parked the antique family wagon in front of her building and killed the ignition. He leaned to the passenger window and glared at the dimly lit windows. He watched her silhouette behind the closed curtains for a while, hesitant to go knock on her door. Almost eleven, not that late, he tried to persuade himself.

Grabbing some loose change from above the dashboard, he flipped a coin.

"Heads," he said between his teeth.

The coin flipped. Tails.

He winced at the unexpected result and pocketed the change. Not tonight. Not tonight was he going to follow the coin diktat, he thought. He snatched the paper bag from the passenger seat and left the car. He crossed the empty street, walked up her stairs, rapped softly on the door with the brown bag stuck under one arm. He waited, his ear to the door, not sure she could have heard him knock.

Well if she hadn't, he won't push his luck, he said to himself. As a response, he saw the shades move. She briefly glimpsed outside, fanning the door open soon after. Her hair was wet and dishevelled, and she had pushed her glasses on top of her head. She was wearing the most adorable white tank top over some _Transformers_ teen pyjamas pants.

"Hey, Olivia…" he trailed.

She silenced him with a raised finger and gestured him to come inside, closing the door without giving him another look. He took off his coat and sat on the couch while she resumed her pacing, her phone pressed to her ear. He noticed that she was far more joyful than her usual, her face lively, her eyes sparkling with energy. He registered the glimmer with a heart pinch and realised he's never seen her like that. With the exception of the time he'd seen her with John Scott.

"Beth, I gotta to go," she said on the phone. She giggled. "Yeah… I promise, I'll be there, yes, yes, no matter what, no way I'm gonna miss her birthday again, I'll leave you now, a friend just showed up..."

He was doing his best not to listen but her body language was clearly betraying her cheery tone. She was embarrassed by his presence. Confirming his observation, she combed her hair in a very familiar move. The glasses fell to the floor and she crouched to pick them up. She placed them carefully on her closed laptop right in front of him and her eyebrow rocketed when she flashed him an unsecure smile. He smiled back and made a show of being interesting in the last issue of _Guns magazine_ while she paced away from him.

She had her back to him but he could hear her chuckle. The laugh somehow got stuck in her throat. "Beth, no, no. Not that kind of friend, I swear, this one, he's just a colleague… of course I'd tell you, you'd be the first to know!" She left for the kitchen and rattles and water splashing covered her conversation.

He wondered whether he should leave now and put himself out of his misery. On the other hand, she had let him in…

She finally hung up and went back to the living room. Her eyes wandered in the room looking for him.

"Sorry," she dropped beside him and smiled for the second time. She placed her elbow on the back of the seat, combed her hair again with her free hand. After half a minute, she sat crossed legged on the couch. "What's up? You okay? You know that Rachel is back to Philly right?"

He sat back and nodded. "Yep, we talked." Silence. "I brought you something."

She glanced at the brown bag. "More booze?"

He chuckled. "Mmmm, if Moët et Chandon Rosé Impérial is considered booze, then yes, I guess I did."

"Champagne?" She seemed genuinely surprised. "What's the occasion?"

"Did you forget about our game?"

"Oh…" she sighed, "the game." She looked down at her hands on her lap, clearly avoided his gaze.

"Where are your glasses?" he asked nonetheless.

"Peter, I don't want to be rude, but we can't spin the bottle unless it's full or empty."

"All the more reason to start right away, we haven't got all night!" he teased her before realisation sank in. Bad choice of words. She turned beet red and stood up rapidly to conceal her trouble. She almost tripped on the coffee table and managed to keep her balance at the last second. He felt bad. His plan wasn't to toy with her feelings and yet he seemed to do his best to embarrass her. He stood up to help her with the bottle and the glasses and followed her to the kitchen.

"I'm not sure," she pleaded. She looked better. Now that the flush was gone, she was keeping busy with fetching two convenient glasses. "I'm afraid I don't have any glass fit for Champagne. Do you mind?" She turned round and brandished two plain whisky glasses with a thick bottom. He was right behind her and she bumped into him. He gasped in pain when she stepped on his toes and she squealed, dropping both glasses on the floor.

"So much for having a quiet evening and a drink," he smiled. "You're right. Put that baby in the fridge before we start WW3 and let's call it the night."

She giggled. "You're sure you don't mind? I'm really tired. I'll take a rain check on that drink, if that's all right."

"I do mind but I don't want to end in the hospital or something. And you're gonna catch your death if you don't dry your hair." He held back his impulse and didn't stroke her hair. She blushed nevertheless.

"Thanks," she said. There was something close to longing in her eyes that made him cringe. It was late and he was only imagining things. _I swear this one, he's just a colleague_, that were her own words.  
"Thanks for nothing," he smiled. "I should've called you before barging in."

"Of course not!" she protested half-heartedly walking him slowly to the door.

"See you tomorrow?"

"Yup."

She opened the door. He turned to her and smiled. "That was fun, night 'Livia."

"Night."

He held her briefly in his arms and left, rushing down her stairs, his hands deep in his pockets and his chin to his chest.

Long after he was gone, she wandered whether she had imagined the light kiss on top of her head.

**TBC**

_your opinion is highly valued_ ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**FRINGE**

**Spin the Bottle**

_No copyright inFRiNGEment intended._

_Note: I know it's been a very long time but i thought i could revive this story and eventually finish it ;)  
_

-o-

**PART 7**

She slowly closed the door and went back to the front window. He was opening Walter's car. Why the heck did he leave so fast? In fact, why the hell did he leave at all? She never asked him to leave in the first place. The only thing she made pretty clear was that she didn't want to drink. That she was tired. And it was entirely true. She really felt tired but was she so tired that she'd prefer to be left alone? Certainly not! She probably could have used some recreational conversation or whatnot with Peter. He was always good at cheering her up, even when she was not in the mood.

He stayed a while in the motionless car. She couldn't make him out, he was parked too far from the next city light. She bit her lip, tempted to call him and ask him back inside. The headlamps came to life. Too late, she thought watching the antique car pulling off.

He dove inside the car, slammed the door, and punched the wheel. Why did he have to leave so abruptly? _She never told me to leave did she_? She said she was not in a mood for a drink, that she was tired. The Olivia on the phone with her friend, carefree and laughing freely, that was a side of her he was not used to. He felt jealous of the woman who could talk to her like that even if he knew he could have done exactly the same thing had he stayed longer. But his male ego had ruined the moment.

Obviously, this day was a total disaster from the very beginning and it was meant to stay that way. With a last glance to her windows, he started the car and drove off, increasing the speed far too quickly for the old vehicle. The engine screeched and protested but complied eventually. He turned the corner and slowed down immediately. He was making a fool of himself. She was probably wondering what he was up to, showing up at midnight on her front door, his mouth full of bad jokes and his heart on his sleeve.

He punched the wheel again and honked by accident. It made him jump and realize he was feeling sorry for himself again. Usually, he knew how to flirt with women without acting out and feeling ultimately like a total prick. For some reason, it was different with Olivia. He wanted her to care.

Trying not to dig too deep into this unexpected thought, he drove aimlessly. It was already too late for a drink in a quiet place. Unless he was ready to spend some time downtown in some trendy venue, his only option was to go back to the hotel. At least, this one time, he could enjoy the peace of being alone with Walter gone to his poker game. But Walter will be back in the middle of the night, ready for some new experimental suggestions he'll soon be part of and his night sleep would be over.

From the top of his head he checked a list of possible concerts but came up with nothing. He could always try the Roxy, which could probably host one of the more diverse crowds in the area, but at the last minute he chickened out. He was in no mood for hip hop. He could have killed two hours playing pool at the FELT only with the right dress code, he chuckled --too bad.

He stopped the car two blocks away from the hotel and walked to clear his head. When he pushed the entrance door, his eyes lingered on "their" bench and he almost turned around. He shrugged instead, and strode through the empty hall for dear life. He jogged upstairs, barged in, tossed his coat and keys on the coffee table and crashed on the couch without switching on the lights.

Against all odds, she stayed up after he was gone. She was not tired any more but wired up instead which was totally unfair. He had done nothing to upset her. To be perfectly honest, she was pleased he came over. But she should have hung up on Beth. She was not comfortable enough to talk to her with Peter in the same space. She had no reason to feel embarrassed about her conversation though, just two old college friends catching up on their respective lives. She tried to replay their exchange over the phone but her mind went blank. After she let him in, she couldn't remember squat. Did she say something that he might have heard? No. If he was upset, he probably would have left right away. Anyway, she couldn't recall anything but the tingly feeling in her stomach when she saw him at her front door. If she said something it was probably something stupid.

She went back to the fridge and took a better look at the bottle. _Moët et Chandon Rosé Impérial_. That sounded horribly French and fancy. Now she couldn't help but feel guilty. She shove the bottle back inside and slammed the door, looking for her phone. She found it near her laptop. She was already dialing his number when she changed her mind. Maybe he was playing some stupid game and was connected on skype or something. She revived her screen, clicked the icon in the quick launch bar and checked her contact list. She spotted a green icon next to _Resident Genius_. Peter was online.

She took a step back as if he could see her from his computer. Good, now on top of being difficult, she was just being childish. She shuffled hesitantly from one foot to the other and finally preyed on her headset and rang him. She cleared her throat and waited for his answer. Maybe he wasn't even anywhere near his laptop. Maybe he left it at the lab. Maybe he was asleep already and she was only going to wake him up and he'll be in a bad mood because tonight was poker night for Walter and his chance of a quiet time. She tried not to listen to the voice in the back of her head exhorting her to shut down her computer, and closed her eyes. _Answer, please, answer_.

"Livia? Couldn't resist giving your partner a goodnight video kiss, could you?"

Her eyes snapped open, her cheeks suddenly warming up, and she shuddered helplessly. Peter's image was blurry but she could see he was grinning. "Power outage?" she asked.

"Sorry, I guess I fell asleep before my head hit the couch." He stood up, his silhouette invading the screen before disappearing. Then his voice muffled in the background when he turned on the light. "Better?"

She didn't wait for him to come back in front of the webcam. "I wanted to apologize, Peter."

"Really. That is rich, I'm the one who invaded your private space remember?" He came closer to the screen and his eye was the size of a dessert plate. "… and still you want to apologize?"

"Yes, I owe you an apology. I was rude."

"Let me sit down, I can feel already this is going to be fascinating," he scoffed.

She sighed, it was only fair. "Let's play," she said on impulse. "We don't need a bottle, don't we? Your turn."

His face lit up. "Nick Lane?"

"Nick… I'm sorry Peter, I don't remember. I guess that Walter experimented on us when we were children just like he said. But I can't remember. It'll be easier if I could though," she bit her lip and looked away. "Do you think you were part of the test?"

"No. But yes, I suspect he experimented on me. But I can't remember either. I've had quite a few bad dreams but nothing specific. It was a long time ago." He kept quiet for a moment. "Sorry," he shrugged.

"My turn then." She sat up and locked her eyes on his. "Are you having an affair with my sister?"

"Mmmm, Rachel… You sure you want to go down that road?" he said quietly.

She didn't avert her gaze but she couldn't read his face. "No, I don't," she finally said. She tried to smile but succeeded poorly. "I'm sorry I woke you up. See you tomorrow Peter," she closed the window before he had time to add anything else.

She sat back, staring at the empty screen. What was she thinking? He knew that she was jealous already. Why did she have to ask him? And then it came back to her.

_Not that kind of friend, I swear, this one, he's just a colleague__._

That's why he left. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She banged her head on the back of the couch, closing her eyes. She'd better go to bed and forget the last couple of hours ever happened. She pressed her hands on her forehead trying to relax. A discrete sound informing her of an incoming message pulled her out of her state of drowsiness. She reluctantly opened her client.

_**Re: Nite** from Peter Bishop_

_Rachel is just a friend._

_Why choose the substitute and jeopardize my chances at the real thing?_

_Sleep tight,_

_P._


	8. Chapter 8

**FRINGE**

**Spin the Bottle**

_No copyright inFRiNGEment intended._

_Note: here you go, end of season 1_

-o-

**PART 8**

"Yes, I know. This is crazy." Her absent stare focused on a point behind his shoulder and she froze.

He decided to give her some time to regroup and gestured to the bartender for a refill. The guy came and went. Yet she hadn't moved an inch.

"You okay?" he finally asked, his hand hovering over hers.

She noticed their closeness but didn't flinch and smiled instead. She nodded. "Yes, I guess I am… now, though I'd like to erase the one thing from my memory, like Jones being sliced up."

"I'm glad you have this memory stuck in your head," he stated. She breathed out loudly and her eyes widened. She clasped her end of the table and tilted her head in disbelief. "Versus me having the memory of you being sliced up in his place," he explained matter-of-factly, his face unreadable, not trying to smile or smooth it for her.

"Oh…" Her eyes lingered on their glasses.

"See? Not so bad in the end."

"Yeah, I guess so." She sat back and her slender silhouette disappeared in the dim light of their booth. "You did the right thing Peter. This pursuit, this was a mistake. I shouldn't have followed him but I…" Her head sank. "I… I couldn't stop. I would have ended being killed or trapped over there, wherever that is," she added with some kind of bewilderment in her voice. She was whispering now. "Or for all we know, I could have simply vanished in between!"

"I think that Baldy is probably from in there, the in between realities I mean," he said, thinking out loud. "Anyway, you're here, I'm here and we are alive and well and living in Boston!"

"Yeah, aren't we kicking."

"Let's celebrate!"

She smiled again and gently squeezed his hand. He gulped his whiskey shot and rinsed it with a swig of beer. "Do you think that Walter ever crossed to the other side?" He couldn't possibly know the answer, but he will elaborate on this, she thought.

"I don't know."

"Humour me."

He grinned, his green eyes suddenly lit with a new purpose. "At this point, anything's possible, and we have to assume he did cross. He said that he… --you ready? … that he built a time machine when I was a child."

"A time machine?"

"Yes. And his sole purpose was to get information from some obscure physician back in the 30's because I was sick and he couldn't find a cure."

"You're actually telling me that he travelled back in time?!"

He patted her hand gently. "Of course not! Eventually, I got better. I guess he forgot about the whole thing and simply stored his invention at the beach house or in a bank safe we'll never heard about and lost the key. Livia, the guy is a genius, his mind works in mysterious ways. It was probably the simplest way he could think of at the time. He doesn't see the world the way we do."

"The way I do," she whispered. "But what if he transformed it into a teleportation machine?"

"And I'm the Star Trek fan?" He shrugged. "I have no idea. You know how he called the… device he made me use to stop Jones?"

"You tell me."

"A plug. A plug to the alternate universe."

She chuckled. "A plug, that's cute."

"I wouldn't have put it that way, but cute is fine. And yes. It's very likely that he went to the other side, to the other sides, actually, because there're an infinite number of alternate universes out there, ready for the reaching. Being the womanizer I suspect he is," he joked, "he probably spawned an infinite number of little Peters as well."

"Oh, I see, a woman in every galaxy."

"More like in every reality."

They stayed silent for a while, engulfed in their thoughts. The clatter of a tray full of bottles and glasses clashing down on the floor and the cheers from the patrons brought them back to a reality they could comprehend.

"I wasn't going to tell you, but it would be unfair. I'm meeting with Nina Sharp tomorrow in New York."

"Nina? Mmm… Can I come with?"

"Why? You rarely attend meetings with her."

"I can change, I can be more proactive if you let me. And for Nina, let's gamble. I'll toss a coin, if it's head, we meet Nina together." Her face melted. "Or do you prefer to spin the bottle?"

"Bending the rules again?"

"Why not?" He took her hand and kissed it. "It's just a game."

"I'm guessing she won't accept." She didn't try to take her hand back, she continued, her voice even, meeting his curious gaze. "She asked me not to tell anyone."

"And yet you're telling me."

"We're supposed to meet at the Mutsumi Hotel on Broadway."

"Manhattan, fancy!"

"Yep." She bit her lip. "Do you think she knows more?"

"I'm sure she does. And Broyles is in on it too. Maybe she'll agree to set a meeting with William Bell."

"To be honest, I don't think the man exists any more, he's like a ghost, polluting Walter's head and blinding me from finding the truth. When you and I met… well, I've to admit that I wanted his head badly. I tried all the channels but I never came anywhere near him and now Nina says…" Her head dropped to her chest and she stroked his fingers absently.

"I'm listening."

She glanced. "She says he's not in this world."

"Interesting, that would make her the real and only acting CEO of Massive Dynamic."

"That's it? You're not even questioning his living in another reality?"

"Why would I? The things we've seen? Boy, if Nina says he's not in this world, you must trust her. Or else why Jones would have wanted to cross over so badly? He said he wanted to confront Bell, didn't he?" She nodded. "But you already suspected that much. So do we spin the damn bottle or what?"

"What for? Whatever you want to ask me, simply ask."

"Did you read my email?"

Her hand glided away. "What email?"

"Don't do this Livia."

"Yes," she breathed out quietly.

"So what do you say?"

"…"

"Oookayy… I guess I have my answer then."

"No Peter, it's not what you think!"

"It's not?"

"I can't risk losing another…"

"… boyfriend?" he prompted, trying to read her face, but she averted his eyes.

"I don't have time for this."

"I'm not that time consuming. Try me."

She shook her head and recoiled, disappearing in the dark of their booth again. "I'm… Promise me you won't laugh. I'm bad luck."

He chuckled. "Bad luck? What is supposed to mean? I thought you were from Jacksonville not Salem."

"You know. John?"

"John? What has it got to do with anything? You really like opening old wounds again, don't you? Or maybe you just prefer to keep them open in case you'd be tempted to commit to a new relationship. I'm right Olivia?"

"I have to go. Tonight was a bad idea. I have an early flight tomorrow morning and…"

He jumped from the seat. "Go, I'm not stopping you. Good night Olivia."

Before she had time to react, he turned on his heel and vanished from her sight. She grabbed her purse and followed him but she couldn't find him anywhere. Mortified, she stepped outside, peering for him into the street shadows. He was gone and she needed some rest.

She hailed a cab and went home. She didn't even try to call him to spare herself the humiliation of going directly to his voice mail. Speaking to a bleeping machine was not an option. She'll sound flustered and she could picture his face already when he plays the message after she had hung up.


End file.
